


The Cup of Finwë.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cuiviénen, Gen, Pre-Valinor, Quendi, The Voyage of the Elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: For Tolkien Secret Santa 2020A forager of the Nelyar recalls a time of discoveries on the long journey to Valinor.Finwë is creative.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2020





	The Cup of Finwë.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WonderWafles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWafles/gifts).



  
I am called Cévan, for my restless spirit drives me onwards, over the next hill, or into the next cavern, and always some new treasure, some sweet fruit, or savoury mushroom, unseen by any but I, is brought back to the excitement of the people. We have barely seen our own corner of this vast land, and yet still they would linger...   
But now we know too much to find peace here, we must move on, or perish, and so my errant restlessness must fill all, and we must move...

They blame my grandfather Enel the Unborn, who first listened to the tree. Oh, everyone sang to them, or talked, but only Enel climbed a lonely hill to a solitary tree, and sat alone, silent, and listened. I was not yet born, but my mother spoke of the long wait, and how she took food to him, and her brother carried water, but Enel did not stir even to slake his thirst; until the people gathered at the foot of the hill, quiet under the glittering sky, and still Enel waited, and my mother said the stillness was an event, a time outside of time, that stirred, or set to rest, somewhat deep within all who were present. And since that time the Nelyar have held true to the song that was vouchsafed to Enel up on the hill.   
  
Thus we shun the flame, we hew not from living bough, nor pluck fruit that would not fall into the hand. And as the land sleeps, and time replenishes not the fruit on the bough, we must move henceforth, until the changing of the world.

The Tatyar would not heed Enel; for them the fire is as a creature they would tame, their love of the flame has driven our peoples apart as nothing else could. The Minyar are with us in spirit; one of their people, Ingwë, listened to the tree as Enel had done, and shared thought with Enel, and there was even hope, they say, that the tribes would be reconciled. But as all know, the Tatyar are wedded to the flame, and my people drew further and further away.

Then came the Hunter, Oromë of the Valar, summoning all to the land of giants, where trees are brighter than all the stars of heaven together, and the fruit is a wonder of colour and abundance.

My name is Cévan, but my mother named me Rána, of course I volunteered to go! But only three were chosen, our Elwë, Finwë the crafter, and to my delight Ingwë, who at least understands us. 

The wait was long! How we wandered, my Lëos and I, he still insisting on tasting each new thing. For as he said, if he should be slain by it, I at least would bring tidings to his people, whereas should I perish, then he too, lost and alone, would be finished. I doubt the truth of this, and suspect him of caring more for me than for himself, but I will not embarrass him by speaking of this. Though it warms my heart more than perhaps I admit even to myself.

But at last the Three returned from far Valinor, grown taller, and shining like fallen stars!   
How we marvelled!   
I knew that I must follow, and saw in the eyes of Lëos that he was with me, and we smiled with singing hearts.

Ha, I am glad that it was not my task to persuade the reluctant to follow. The mere sight of the Three should have set a star of longing their hearts, I still believe, but no. 

I will not set down the tedious debates. They lasted long, until on a day the foragers returned empty and it was time to leave. Until that very moment, I had been certain that all would follow Ingwë when the time came, and I feel yet the shock, the shock that echoes still through all elvendom, the shock of separation. 

  
Many friends and much of my family bade us farewell on that day of grief, and there were many tears as they vanished into the shadows under the trees, south away, gone.

But Ingwë shone star-bright, singing "Forward, Eldar!" And we joined in, the whole host in mighty chorus, and the forest stirred around us, smiling in deep sleep, dreaming of us, perchance...

Following streams we found rivers, and more streams, and forests and vales and flowers with no name, and fruits without end, and many spoke of the vastness and great beauty of the land, and how they would linger, or turn back to find those who had stayed, but Ingwë and Elwë sang with us, sharing memories of the wonders that awaited us, until a little of the light in their shining eyes reflected back at them from the eyes of the hesitant elves. 

At last the long river brought us to halt, and to camp, and all eyes gazed up, and up, at the sharp peaks, cold violet against the glittering sky. Beside me Lëos said "There is another, greater range of mountains beyond this." And my heart sank, for I knew that some, if not all of my people would refuse the crossing; but that all that I am drove me onward.

I returned with Lëos from long wanderings, our packs heavy with dried mushrooms and healing herbs, but we hesitated atop a low hill; for the vast encampment on the shores of the great river was in turmoil. Lëos handed his pack to me and hurried on to discover the cause of the clamour. He returned frowning.  
"What ails the Quendi?" I asked him, but he stood silent for a time, then took his pack and donned it, still in silence, staring all the while at the broken teeth of the mountains. At last he sighed.  
"The Nelyar will divide once more. Some will follow the Three, but many have chosen the road south, where, so say the scouts, the mountains become mere rolling hills, and the way is wide and smooth. There is anger, for the Nelyar do not feel the impatience of the Three, and would have all the Quendi join them on their long march south.   
But Ingwë speaks of the Light of the Trees as one parched with thirst begging for water. So they say." He sighed again, then turned to me with astonished eyes "And the Tatyar have taken to burning rocks." He pointed then, and a pillar of smoke, lit red from great fires below, drew the eye. "Burning rocks... Perchance the Hunter was himself the Enemy, warning us of his malice to increase our torment, and now the fear has turned us fey."  
"It pleases you to jest! We must move, whether we move west with Ingwë or south with our kin, or north alone, we must move. How can this be fey? As to the Tatyar... they are playful, perhaps they merely test the rocks, to discover their nature?"  


Close to, the furnace, as the Tatyar name their dread fire-pit, was smaller than I had imagined, but the heat, the light, the roar, the smoke, the ring of watching elves and the controlled haste of those working caused an uproar as though lightning had descended from the sky and come to toy awhile with the elves. We watched for hours, with no understanding, as the furnace was fed, and air forced through it, until it became as an earthen dance, in which the very rocks were moved to action. And at last with long pincers a stone cup was drawn forth from the inferno, and onto a slab of polished stone they poured the fiery broth, which seemed to harden even as it spread, and then...  
If I watch a thousand times I will be unable to describe what I saw. But the hands of Finwë moved faster than even the swift fingers of Serindë, and all the watchers held silence, and the beast in the furnace slumbered and slept, and the glowing rock was spun and shaped, and at last, as my eyes began to darken from my failure to breathe, Finwë stopped.  
He seemed for the first time to be aware of the crowd, and his eyes went from face to face and I knew he sought Ingwë, his dearest friend. And Ingwë stepped forth, smiling but silent, and Finwë held up his creation, and Ingwë, and all who watched, gave a great gasp of admiration. In his hand Finwë held a cup, and it was clear as water, and the stars of the Lady shone through it and Ingwë held forth his hand, and Finwë gave him the cup.

Ingwë was silent, turning the cup in his hand, holding it up against the sky to see the light of the stars shine through it, and around him, like the wind in the trees, the Quendi stirred, and voices rose into a great roar of exaltation. Elwë strode through the cheering crowd, tall as a tree himself, and Ingwë showed him the cup, and spoke clearly, in a voice that spread silence like a widening pool "We must drink together, what have you in your flask?"  
"It is sparkling water, we found a spring near the riverbank, the water is salt, but strangely pleasing nonetheless."  
But Finwë held up a hand "Water! No, the first drink must be strong! I have here spirit-of-apple, let us share a cup now!"  
Ingwë drew in a breath, the silence was now complete, the slow murmur of the long river the only sound in the still air. "I have berry wine, but Finwë speaks wisely. Such a device, such skill and craft and understanding as he has shown here, before all, such an event calls forth song and celebration!  
Come, my friends, let us share our drinks, indeed, let us mingle them in this marvel of a cup, a little spirit-of-apple, a little berry wine, and fill the cup with sparkling water! We shall name this draught 'Cup of Finwë', in honour of his magnificent accomplishment. And when we have drunk, let all here assembled do likewise! Let us rejoice in the abundance of Yavanna and the secret power of Aulë, shown forth for all to see by my esteemed colleague and great friend, Finwë the crafter!"

Ingwë gave the cup back to Finwë and touched his arm, then nodded as Finwë turned to look. Thought passed between them, expressions flickered on their faces. I turned to Lëos, who smiled, kindly at first, and then eagerly. Dear Lëos, he cannot tell north from south, to him the patterns of the stars are mere lights in the sky, while for me they point the way as clearly as a gesturing hand. But people are a mystery to me, I can see nothing of the thought of others. Furthermore, I struggle to see the mood, even on the face, and much of subtlety passes me by, unless Lëos explain it to me. It has been suggested that my lack of skill at reading thought has driven me to misdoubt my own judgment in matters of mood and feeling.  
It has been suggested that my lack of skill in these matters has driven me to wandering.  
But I misdoubt their notions. I do not flee, I seek! It is longing which drives me, longing to see the next tree, the next stream, to cross mountains and delve caves. To find the new, and to bring others to it, to share and thus increase my own joy in discovery. As the Three seek to do. 

Finwë had no lack of subtlety and understanding. He held the marvellous cup aloft in both his hands, and the Quendi cheered again, and then Ingwë began to sing, as Finwë poured the pale spirit-of-apple into the clear cup. There was no perceptible hesitation, the crowd joined in the Song of Joy, and Ingwë unstopped his flask and poured deep red berry wine swirling into the cup. Elwë, singing with us, poured in the sparkling water, filling the cup almost to the brim. It glowed in the fading light of the furnace and the torches and lanterns of the crowd. Ingwë held the cup out to Finwë, who slightly shook his head then nodded once to Ingwë, a gesture that even I could understand. Ingwë smiled at him, at Elwë and then at the people.   
He is very skilled with people, it is no wonder that he was chosen to pass across Belegaer to the land of the Valar. He looked around slowly enough that each person felt acknowledged, yet swiftly enough that none felt impatient. He held us in his hand as he held the cup, then he smiled down at the gleaming red wine and drank.  
Immediately he passed the cup to Finwë, as the crowd cheered, and cheered again as Finwë drank, then once more for Elwë, who drained the cup, made a sound of delight and said "A most pleasing draft! Fill the cup! Let us drink deep!"

Ingwë turned to us as Finwë poured, and held his arms wide "Come, Eldar! Drink with us, seek those who have what you lack, and share with those who lack what you have! We are one, under the stars of Varda, of Elbereth the Kindler, we are all Quendi, drinking and singing together! Let us rejoice now! For though we mourn those parted from us now, soon all will be together, all of the Children of Eru Ilúvatar, who has brought forth the Flame Imperishable that we might live, and rejoice!  
Come my friends! Sing now with me!"

That celebration stands yet in my memory as a bright star. There was such harmony there as I have never known since. For we had not taken the irrevocable step, we had not crossed the long river, nor the misty mountains, we had not passed beyond all hope of turning back, of picking up the trail of our lost kin, we were not truly alone.  
We were like wandering children, like myself, bold in the unknown with the boldness of those who know help is at hand. But like the unknown current of the wide river, the fear tugged at us, deep inside, the darkness against which our joy shone out brightly: the faint urgency of our merrymaking.

Lëos was as happy as only a singing elf can be, dragging me (not having to pull very hard!) into intricate dances, for the whole encampment was astir, every cauldron, pot, jug, flagon and flask was pressed into service as mixing bowl, and Cup of Finwë was raised, and downed, by all. Of course, not all the vessels were filled with spirit-of-apple, nor with best berry wine, but the recipe was a simple one, easily adapted to whatever spirit or wine was available, and a bucket chain had formed to carry the sparkling water from the spring. What a time of festival!   
We moved through the crowd, dancing and singing, finding it hard to tell whether those we were with had begun to sing a new song, or we had moved into a new crowd. Strangers smilingly held out jugs to refill our cups, even when they were full, crying "Drink that up and try this, it’s even stronger!" Or sweeter, or less fruity, or with a hint of smoke, or... Indeed it was bewildering, but marvellously so, and truly, I spoke to more elves there than I had for a long time. Yes, it is quiet on the forage.

Suddenly there was cheering, and the crowd reformed, a circle grew by the forge and Lëos dragged me along to see what was afoot. It was Finwë's people, juggling with torches! And like lemon juice in oat cream, the crowd thickened, and those who could perform began to juggle, or tumble, or climb into pyramids, or dance with ribbons, or hundreds of other lively spectacles, and we wandered through it all; greeting friends and strangers, pausing to sing, or dance, or drink, or laugh, and every face was smiling and every voice was singing and the delicious Cup was passed to and fro until we floated through the shining air, filled with light and laughter, our delight spreading out to fill the wide vales of the long river and lap at the very feet of the mighty mountains. What joy!

The voice of Finwë rose above the din, a wordless call that had the juggler catch, one by one, her flaming torches and step back from the furnace, where Finwë's people had been busy. The great slab of stone on which they worked had been covered in red-hot embers from the fire; these they scraped away, carefully sweeping the smooth stone clean. They brought forth a vessel filled with bubbling batter, made from bean flour, and Finwë took a ladle and poured the batter onto the bare stone. It spread thinly, turning golden even as we watched, and as Finwë poured more batter, another grinning elf turned the first pancake, and then Lëos touched my arm and I turned to look and there were trestles and a table, and bowls of rich sauces and steaming stews were laid ready, and the elf put the first pancake onto a wooden platter and with hand on heart presented it to Ingwë, who raised it above his head, turned to the West and sang the first notes of "Yavanna", and we sang with him as he smiled at us all, then made his way to the table to fill his pancake.  
It seemed there was food everywhere, suddenly, and I breathed in deeply, tasting the rich air, full of the smell of spirit-of-apple, of course, but now mingled with the stews and sauces and the mouthwatering scent of frying pancakes, for Finwë and his helper were hard at work.

Finwë was tireless; though I did not know him well, he was always busy, always surprising people with his new creations. I thought of my pride in my discoveries and felt humbled, for any infant could have stumbled over the things that I have found as I wander, whereas Finwë has brought forth new things into the world, things that none could have found, because they had not yet been made. I looked for the clear cup, and there it was in the hand of Míriel Serindë, standing near her beloved Finwë, smiling her dreaming smile. I have only once conversed with her, and her eyes...  
It felt, all the time, as though I were speaking to someone who could see me, but who was hidden from my gaze, though the lady stood before me, smiling remotely. Indeed I am unable to recall her words to me, nor mine to her, but only the sensation as of a spirit of great power, and profound understanding. They are well-matched, she steady and observant while he, or his thought, is wild and restless as the storm. 

It was a little more quiet while people ate, but still the musicians played, and a sweet singer gave us a most lovely rendering of "Mother and Child". I was eating my third pancake (Lëos and I both felt it necessary to taste all the sauces) and watching Ingwë talking quietly to Finwë when Elwë came slowly towards them, looking oddly thoughtful. Oddly for the time and place, that is, not for Elwë himself, who is celebrated for his skill at listening, and understanding what people are trying to say.   
It is not for me to question, since I have little skill in these matters, but the difference between the skill of Elwë and the skill of Miriel seems not to exist. But Lëos claims that Serindë is able to perceive the spirit, the heart, and the purpose of the speaker, while Elwë has studied speech and words and logic and knows often what will be said next, or what would be said if the person has the concepts, and the words to express them.  
But how, I asked him, can the thoughts and words be separate or separated from the spirit or heart of the person who has them?  
He smiled sadly at me then, but kindly nonetheless "What if I were to use the words of another as if they were my own?"  
"You would never do that!" I cried, and he smiled again.  
"So, you do understand the difference."  
I opened my mouth to argue and frowned; there seemed to be a new depth to the shadows, the singing suddenly loud and to the merest degree inharmonious.

At that moment the Three, their heads close together by the fading furnace, suddenly started and turned to face the west, as beside me did Lëos, and Miriel Serindë. And here and there others, some of whom I knew to be skilled at perceiving thought. But the face of Ingwë, which I could clearly see, was radiant with joy.

The Three spoke briefly together and Ingwë beckoned to Lëos and I. Proudly I strode towards him, and he smiled and said quietly "Are you ready to march on?"  
Lëos, who keeps our kit, nodded, as did I. Ingwë drew in the breath through his nostrils, a swift breath, as one poised for action.  
"Good. I need your sharp eyes, Cévan, and your wisdom Lëos. We must cross Anduin now."  
From the crowd six elves melted forwards, like mushrooms bobbing to the surface of a stew; six noted Minyar athletes, who went everywhere with Ingwë, a precaution since first our people began to vanish, taken by the Enemy. And so, without ceremony, the vanguard of the Eldar set off to cross the long river, and as we marched south through the feasting crowds, already the singing was beginning to rise again behind us, and we came at last to the Ford that the scouts had discovered.

There were no lights here but those we had brought, and the dim glow of luminous mushrooms. Here were the Nelyar, my people still, I suppose, though it is long now since I 'turned to the flame'. I am not sorry, I love the light: the light of stars, the flicker of the taper, the candle's glow, the flare of torchlight and the roar of the fire. But if we use the word roar for fire, what word remains to describe the torrent of sound of the mighty furnace, melting the very rock?

As we approached the waters edge, Lëos spoke quietly to Ingwë.  
"What was the call we felt? I thought it a horn, but if so, it was no horn that could be heard by all."  
Ingwë laughed like a carefree child "Valaróma! The horn of Oromë! You have heard it before!"

My heart pounded, my breath ceased, for though we had indeed heard Valaróma from afar, our travels had kept us away from our people when the great meeting had taken place. But now, at last, so very far from Cuiviénen, now we would see, up close, one of the mighty shapers of the world, whose rescue of captured elves from the creatures of the Enemy had truly earned the trust of the Eldar. I am certain that none of the Nelyar would have followed else, for we have lost too many to count.  
"Oromë draws near?" I gasped, and Ingwë laughed again.  
"Dear Cévan, I am delighted that you feel as I do, but I ask that you stay quiet on this matter, for I must speak with Oromë. The mountains are scarcely passable, it may be that your cautious kin are wise to suggest the long path down the river.   
But Finwë counsels that the river may widen, and be simply impassable in the south. The far bank has many sites for ambush and slaughter, and the delay will enable the Enemy to marshal his beasts and strike our flank. As to rafts, as Finwë suggested, it would take an intolerable amount of time even to make them, and the crossing would take... far far longer. No, we must cross on foot, here and now. But come, Oromë draws near!"  
And with a last dazzling smile he stepped into the swirling waters of the river and strode away into the darkness. The six plunged after him, Lëos turned to me with a smile almost as bright as Ingwë's and said "Onwards!"

Delicate mist swirled past us as we stepped softly through the deepest stretches of the long river. Truly, Anduin is wider than some rivers are long! Behind us the light faded into the distance but the sound of song stayed with us across the water, until at last it too was swallowed by the rising mist.  
Ingwë called a halt a little up the far bank, and we lit a small fire to warm our feet, and indeed to ease our fearful spirits. Ingwë alone showed no fear, but lit the very mist with his inner light, which he calls Light, and the mingling of the firelight and the glowing mist around the shining elf was perhaps lovelier than aught that I had seen that day.  
And all around us was darkness, and a watchful silence.

As we set off once more, having rebuilt the fire to burn long, as a beacon, we strode eagerly forwards into the unknown. Lëos turned to smile at me and I grinned back, for I love to venture forth and see that which has never been seen before. The Three, indeed, have passed this way, but they rode, or were borne, on great steeds, and saw little of the country in their awe at their new companions.   
The sleeping lands were quiet around us, the silence deepened by the thickening fog. The trees were silent in the still air, looming like giants through the mist, but Ingwë quickened his steps until we were running, in single file, following his sure path across the narrow vales that led steadily higher, until there was no doubt that the great ascent had begun.

At last, after the longest run I have taken since childhood (the swift forager is blind, as the Nelyar say) the trees began to change, and the steepness of the slope slowed our steps, Ingwë finally halted, and smiled at me.  
"Now comes your time, keen-eyed Cévan! It is our intention to build a small haven hereabouts, to rest ourselves, and to heal any injured, or those bitten by the frost. It must be sturdy, for the wind blows hard in the high places, and it must be roofed against the snow, like a cavern. There may be caverns in these endless mountains, and scouts will be sent to find them. But firstly a base, a hearth, and a light, to guide the steps of those who will follow.  
But you, Cévan, who have brought more new things, and new plant-lore to the Eldar than any other, it is you who must show us where to build this haven."  
  
At that moment I could not imagine that even the land of the Valar could increase my joy by the weight of a single leaf.

But I was wrong, and my joy was increased before ever I saw a Vala at all.

Ingwë and his athletes had lit a small fire as we slid quietly away; the Nelyar are now trained to silence from birth, though the Unborn still rail at us, as though we should be singing to tempt the Enemy! But the sleeping trees were as silent as we, and the only sound was the crackle of the fire and, after a time, the sound of Ingwë and his people gathering wood.  
But Lëos and I did not have far to search. Further up the mountain we came upon a shelf, wide but narrow, where a fall of rocks had shaped a corner sheltered from the wind. Nearby a little stream burst from the sheared face of the rock, and fell into a shallow basin that time would turn into a deep bowl, unless the rock split once more. Lëos and I beamed at each other, and he threw down his pack and darted away to inform Ingwë.

And while Lëos and I foraged, (very successfully!) Ingwë built the first homely house of the elves, to ease the discomfort of the voyage and to encourage the faint of heart. 

It was a strange thing, the haven, and no songs were sung of it, but to me it was a special place, for my wanderer's heart was as eager as a child taking their first steps.   
Far across the water the fires still glowed, making the mist a thing of wonder and beauty, while down below on the riverbank the faint spark could be seen of our roaring fire. For a moment the vastness of the world was all around me, and somehow within me also, so that I felt myself to be less substantial than the mist, a mere flickering of patterns of light shimmering admidst the mist, but through my thoughts wove the voice of Ingwë, and it was a time before I knew that he was singing.   
  
And he held up a torch, and Lëos looked at me with wide eyes, then Ingwë lit the fire. It was outside the haven, on the edge of the shelf of rock, and as the flames roared up, Lëos gave a cry, and seized my hand. I squeezed tightly for a moment, glad that he too felt the weight of the moment, but I was utterly unprepared for what happened next.  
Far across the river, and some way to the north, an answering beacon had been lit! For an appalling moment I feared that the Enemy had found us, but Ingwë sang more loudly and when I looked at him I could see tears in his eyes. The fires close to the furnace of Finwë all flared brightly and suddenly I knew where the farthest fire was, on the isle of rock that split the river, before it closed itself together and hurried on. Elwë would be there, the rearguard, signalling all’s well to the vanguard. That was us, that was me, and my Lëos, doing our best for the people.

And as we sang, the snow began to fall. Ingwë laughed and dashed the drink in the Cup onto the fire, which spat and roared for a moment, then shrugged off the insult. But Ingwë held up the empty Cup and though the snow fell as clouds drew over us, still many stars could be seen.   
  
And Ingwë cried "Elbereth! Varda, Lady of the Stars! Fill now this cup with your blessèd Light, that all may come to joy!" 

It may be that she heard him, the bright stars glittered and the clear Cup glowed in the fair hand of Ingwë, and we sang as the snow covered the stars and swirled thickly around us, settling on our upturned faces, until suddenly Ingwë laughed and we turned to look, and the Cup was filling with snow, and Ingwë glanced at us with glee in his wide eyes, then took his own flask and poured the clear miruvor onto the snow. The snow floated in the palely glowing glass, and Ingwë grinned and drank swiftly, then gave a half cough, half gasp, and held the Cup into the face of the snowstorm. "You must try this, he said confidingly, "for truly it is better than Cup of Finwë!"

  
There are few songs of that time. When once we came to Valinor... Well, even I give little thought to the past, and children came, dismissive of all that came before, but now, now that grandchildren are joining the songs and singing new ones, now they come to the travellers and say "Tell us!"  
Yes, even to me, a mere forager, even me they ask.

  



End file.
